“This is unbearable,” cried Rhoda, bending down and catching at Madge’s hands, to try and tear them from her dress.
“You may beat me and fight as hard as you like,” cried Madge. “I am weak and helpless; but I can cling to you till you have heard, and you shall hear all.”
“I will not—I can not hear it; it is too late,” cried Rhoda, ceasing to drag at Madge’s hands, and once more trying to leave the room.
But, though she struggled hard, she found that she only drew Madge over upon her face, and that the poor creature clung to her more tightly than ever.
“It is too late; I can not—I will not hear you;” and she stood with her fingers thrust into her ears.
Madge turned her face up to her sidewise, and a sad smile trembled about her thin, pale lips as she said softly,—
“You must hear me—you cannot help hearing me; and it is not too late. I tell you that you threw aside that true-hearted gentleman, who is all that is manly and good, and now you have stepped into my place, to take to your heart my betrayer, the father of my poor, helpless babe.”
Rhoda’s hands dropped to her sides. She had heard every word, and, unable to resist the desire to know more, she went down upon her knees, caught Madge by the shoulders and gazed fiercely in her eyes.
“This is not true,” she cried. “Wicked, false woman, you have come to blacken Mr Tregenna’s character to me.”
“Blacken his character!” cried Madge, half scornfully. “You have lived here all your life, and know all that I knew before I weakly listened to his lying words, thinking that I was so different from others who had gone before. Tell me, Rhoda Penwynn, would what I say make his character much blacker than it is?”